Signal Flare
by Gilly B
Summary: Everything is gone. Everything. You have to rebuild your life from scratch. And maybe, just maybe, your friends are doing the same thing. Wherever they are. (Eventual JohnDave, after the End Game)
1. Flare

So... Here have this *flings fic at you and runs away*

Disclaimer: HussieHussieHussie

WARNINGS: After EndGame, eventual Hammertime/pepsicola/JohnDave, singleparent!Dave, umm I haven't thought it out that much we'll see when we get there

Anyway

Here

* * *

It was hot, dark, and your body felt like it was dying. Those were the first three things you noticed when you woke up from the End Game. You reacted quickly, hands scrabbling to find purchase in the rough brick wall behind you as you heave yourself up despite the pain shooting through your veins. Your eyes take in the scenery; green grass, green trees, sidewalk, far away jungle gym, not really registering what you're looking at. You roamed a hand over your body in fast motions, just trying to reassure yourself that everything was there, while the other hand kept you upright. You were relieved when you found everything to be there, all ten fingers, you wriggled them in front of your face. All ten toes, wiggling in your shoes- something you were surprised to still find on you, along with your other articles of clothing. Both eyes, you pulled your shades up on your head and gently rubbed at them. Everything was there. Everything was in check.

That's when you realized that it was hot. Familiarly hot. Not as hot as your planet, but not the same type of heat on the meteor or anywhere else in the Game for that matter. It was hot like Texas. Your Texas. The place you were raised. The place you kind of missed even if it was filled with a lot of assholes. That was when it really hit you. You weren't in the game anymore. You just lost the game. You… You and everyone else had died in a furious inferno, some of them even died twice. Lord English had won- found some stupid loophole and figured out how to implode paradox space itself, killing himself out of spite and taking everyone with him. Not many of you ever thought you could win anyway- it's not like you can stop what's _already here_.

This sent you into a panic. You were dead, but now you aren't? No, it can't be. The world doesn't fucking work like that. So where were you? Hell? You knew Texas was as hot as Satan's asshole but this was taking it a bit too far. And if you were in hell then why wasn't the Sass Master Satan, King of All Things Douche here to greet you? And what about Lalonde? You're pretty sure that she should be down here too, living it up and partying in a hot tub with some sinners or something.

The thought of your ecto-sister makes you pause. Sweet Jegus. Everyone was dead. Everyone was dead. Dead dead, as in permanently gone into the afterlife or wherever the fuck. Gone.

But then you check yourself again. No… You aren't really dead. You don't feel dead. Not like how you felt those few seconds between dying and becoming a God Tier. You felt alive- more or less. You were breathing and you're pretty sure your heart is beating. And maybe, just maybe, that means everyone else is alive too. You can feel that heartbeat pick up at the thought. Could the world have just been put on reset or something? That's a thing that can happen, right? If the Scratch can happen then maybe there's also a Reset Button.

You push off from the wall as excitement starts to build through you. You can go back to your shitty apartment for once. You can have some goddamned apple juice. You can talk to all your friends over pesterchum again, even the trolls. You can… see your Bro again.

Your feet slap against the pavement in your anxiousness, barely bothering to check your surroundings, even as you transition from pavement to grass to pavement again. You're just running in a random direction...

They're not dead, they're not dead, they can't be dead, they are alive. You'll see your Bro and he'll shove gross smuppet ass in your face like he used to. He'll tell you to get to the roof so you can strife like you always did. You'll open the fridge and crappy swords will rain down upon you like a nostalgic, pointy downpour. You'll crack jokes about his hat, his shades, and his unhealthy obsession with orange juice (a parallel to yours with the apple variety). You'll give him the best fucking hug he has ever had in his life. You don't care if you mean it in a totally unironic way, you are going to hug your Bro and he is going to like it. You miss him like hell.

The street lights that had been glowing in the distance hit you and you've reached the road. You're surrounded by fancy houses and impeccable lawns, you had been dumped off at some park and you think you might recognize it. Your lungs drag in the hot, dry, polluted air surrounding Houston and your legs pump out a steady rhythm. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Adding a back beat to the tempo of your rapidly beating heart. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. You have lost your cool, running frantically down a street you barely recognize. But let's face it. You lost your cool long ago, way before this moment, probably the first time you died or the first time you saw your friends die. Maybe you never had it in the first place.

You start slowing down. Your excitement no longer overpowering your system. You look for a street sign. No dice. Only well-kept fancy yards and well-kept fancy houses. You do, however, spy and intersection down the road that may have a sign around. You pick up the pace again, this time with a destination in mind. It doesn't take you long to reach the end. The street is empty and the glow from the stop lights illuminate the area. You find the sign you're looking for. You take off your shades to read it better.

You're on Avalon about to cross onto Kirby. Avalon and Kirby. _Avalon and Kirby._ Fuck. You know this place. You know this place well. How did you not fucking notice? You'd been to taht park so many times you can't even begin to count. You grew up here, surrounded by snotty rich kids that you always ignored in favor of your online friends. You explored this place, always kicking the other kids off of the jungle gym because you had always been a little shitbag. You lived here, you'd walk these streets in day and night _right fucking there_.

You looked up and, sure enough, there it was. Towering over you. Your home. The building that your Bro owned. No really, he'd bought out the whole thing because he was an ostentatious douche sometimes (but more because he just didn't like people). All the lights were off in the building. You were almost there. You just had to walk a few more steps. You were going to do it. You were _making this happen._

You dart across the empty intersection and jog towards the entrance. You stop abruptly and a sick feeling enters your stomach. This... _This is not your home._

Where are the ridiculous signs that your Bro posted all over the gate? Why does the building look so different up close? What were these fancy fucking hedges doing here? Why did everything look so familiar yat warped? _Where the fuck was your house._

You take a another look around at the houses lining the street. They look the same. Mostly. There are small differences; a shade off on paint color, a different type of car in the driveway, and firehydrant that was never there before, too many shitty trees, things that normally wouldn't freak you out, but added altogther with this sick sense of _unreality_ and the knowledge that everything very well could be different, you can't help but flip your shit.

You decide to enter the building anyway. Just in case.

You can't.

The building is locked. Shut down. Run down. Condemd. No one has lived here for months. It's pitch black through the windows. You fall to your knees in front of the boarded up glass door. You can't take any more of this shit. It's the final fucking straw. _This isn't cool anymore_. Stop. Just stop it all. Make it stop. Make. It. _Stop_.

Your head tilts back in despair. You're jsut so fucking done with everything. You idly notice a bird was frozen midflight from one of those ridiculous hedges. Frozen in time. Fucking great. You wave a limp hand and time starts again. So that's why you could still hear the faint grinding of gears in the back of your mind. You hadn't lost your God Teir powers. Lucky you.

Get yourself together you insufferable little prick. You need to figure shit out. You have no money. Supposedly no family. No home. No anything. What you need is a plan and a place to sleep tonight. You'll figure things out in the morning.

You look up again at what might have been your building in some other dimension.

You climb up to your feet and tear away some of the planks boarding it up. Once done (some of the boards being thrown away woth more force than necesary) you wrench open the doors and walk inside. You search for a place in the dark and find a nice little nook that isn't so covered in grime and settle down, curling your feet up and wrapping your arms around yourself.

You pull your shades over your eyes and sigh. This was going to be a long and depressing ride.

* * *

Song inspiration: Flare from the Homestuck albums (but that one that's slowed down 10%)

Anyway fun fact Dave's "address" is 2121 Kirby Dr, Houston, TX

You can literally google maps it. I took time out of my busy busy schedule and actually mapped that motherfucking scene out. Find the park and re-trace Dave's steps.

Legit.

And umm... It's really fucking hard to write in 2nd person

Bye

~Gilly B.


	2. Coursing

You really shouldn't know how long it's been. You should have forgotten exactly how many minutes, days, weeks, months it had been since the game ended. It should have washed away from your memory like all the other things. You can't remember everyone's name anymore. You can't recall all the shity details anymore. All the important facts about the game you thought you had memorized. How, exactly, everything had happened. And it's only been a year. Twelve months, 52.2 weeks, 365.05 days, 8,765.8 hours, 525,949 minutes. Almost exactly a year. It's the same day at least.

You guess that's why you're here. Not that the place you're at has any significant meaning. But it's a place that you felt was special. A place you could just sit and think and mourn over the loss or your friends and family. You had no real evidence that they were dead (hell that could all be having a party down the block and you wouldn't know), but you also didn't have any evidence that they were alive. You hadn't come into contact with anyone over the past year, you had no cellphone, you had no laptop, you had _no money_. In fact, all you could ever do was roam the streets and beg for change. Once you gathered enough surplus after buying food, you got a bus or a taxi or whatever and started moving (most of the time you walked a lot). Your destination was Washington state, and you hope to fucking God that you'll find something (or more some_one_) there that's recognizable. Though you doubted it.

This new place was strange. It looked the same on many levels but there was something fundamentally different from your world. Number one, you didn't exist. Literally. You had checked it up on a library computer after trying to find a pesterchum app to contact your friends with. You couldn't find pesterchum (it just didn't exist) and you couldn't find any other contact info from your friends. Nothing. You went further (you even resorted to googling yourself) and again. Nothing. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of your life after the game (nothing could ever come close to the terror you felt there) and you had immediately fled the library afterwards, never looking back. And that was the first thing you noticed was off.

Number two, you _had no captchalog._ It just wasn't even a thing anymore. Poof. Gone. Nobody used it. Nobody had one. Nobody even knew what it fucking was (you had definitely risked seeming crazy the few times you tried to ask).

Number three, well fuck it, there wasn't one that you could think of. Weren't the first two enough on their own? The answer is yes. You don't need anymore shit on your plate. You were overeating shit anyway, literally gorging yourself on shit. If you didn't stop soon you would die from eating too much of the shit on your plate.

You sigh and curl up tighter into the ball you had made of your limbs. It was nearing the middle of summer, but you were still cold. Everywhere was cold compared to Texas. You're sitting under a tree in a park in some place you don't even remember the name of. The tree is some ways away from the rest of the park, isolated. Which is way you chose this tree in particular to sit under as you ponder over the past. Mourn. Think. Plan. Sigh.

You've done enough thinking today. You stand up and brush off your pants. Your dirty, ragged pants that look like they've seen better days (and they have). It's time for you to head out and find a bus stop and continue your journey to Washington.

You've saved up just enough money for a ticket to Boise. Those potatoes won't know what hit them.

* * *

so I don't actually know what im doing with this...


	3. Rapture

You're hunched over, your fingers aching as they pound against the dirty keys of the beat up old keyboard you were lucky enough to scavenge from a dumpster. A ratty fedora sits in front of where you set up, hoping to catch the spare change that strangers a willing to throw at you in exchange for a few scales and arpeggios. The store owners were kind enough to let you use one of their outlets for your keyboard (your allegedly brilliant piano skills bring in customers after all). They give you free coffee when it's really cold out.

Sometimes people will stop and gather around you. Sometimes people pass you without a second glance and pretend that they didn't just toss in a quarter out of pity. Sometimes people will just walk by for hours, an endless stream of people that don't want to listen and don't have the time to care (it's those days that you have to go hungry). And then there are times when everyone around you will literally stop. Stop moving, stop doing, stop breathing.

And they just listen to you play. Those are the times that you aren't playing for the money, the food, or even the attention. You're playing out your feelings. You're playing out the Game. You're playing out the confusion and desperation and relief and grief. You're playing with your heart and soul and everyone just stops and listens.

The wind will pick up with the intensity your playing. Tussling your hair and whipping around the clothing of the people around you. Any paper money they might have given you is snatched by your wind. You didn't want it anyway, you didn't want to sell something so personal on the street.

You're playing out your soul right now. Letting the keys of your piano take you away. You fingers alternately gliding across the keys and pounding into the them with frustration. You don't think about what you're playing, how it sounds to others or what gross, personal details you're displaying for the public through the notes. You simply let it go. You let your fingers intwine in a complex dance filled with sobs and rhythms and jabs. None of the music you make is familiar to anyone else, but you can always pick out the melodies that haunted you through the game and still today. (That fucking annoying elevator music, that haunting refrain you used to know, the pulse of the stupid beats Dave would use for his lame raps).

It's been six months since. Since the End, since you started starving, since you felt the first bout of bone crushing desperation and grief. Since you last saw any of your friends or family alive. You feel yourself crying as you hunch further over your dancing fingers (they're slow and erratic to match your mood), hiding your face from the rest of the world.

All you want to do is curl up in a ball on a comfy bed and watch crappy movies with your friends. You want your Dad to walk into the room with a freshly baked cake and for him to tell you how proud he is of you. You want to start a prank war with your Dad again. You want to show your friends all those cool magic tricks you had learned once upon a time. You want to go back to the time you could be a kid again. But it's all too late now. Your friends are dead. Your Dad is dead. You've lost your innocence.

You think it's your punishment for playing the Game. It's what you deserve for fucking it up big time. You lost. Now you have to suffer.

You turn around quickly as you finish up the song you started, you don't want people to see your face or see your emotion. The wind is blowing something fierce and you figure it's connected to your raging despair. You hear a few people clap. The faint clink of change. You also hear them begin to walk away.

It's something that's painfully true about your new life as a homeless teen. No matter how long you capture everyone's attention, they always walk away in the end.

That, and you're always still hungry.


	4. Clockstopper

Stop.

Hold the presses. We're sorry ladies and gentleman but your flight has been delayed. The train has been derailed, just like your fucking train of thought you can't even think anymore.

You had been taking a break. You hadn't listened to any really good music for a while, so you decided it would be nice to just chill in a music store or something. You were about to go in when...

BAM.

Instant baby.

No, he didn't fall from the sky on a meteor or anything crazy like that. He was just sitting outside. In a box. Just chillin like any fucking baby would when abandoned outside a music store in nothing but a blanket and a box.

Now, if it had been any other baby you would have taken them to the police or hospital or something and let them take care of it from there. But, this wasn't just any kid.

It was Dirk.

You could tell. White blonde hair, freckles, and of course those freaky orange eyes. He was a Strider bro and you couldn't just leave him hangin' like that. He had been a pretty rad dude when you met him in the Game (and also this alternate version of your Bro).

So you took him.

You found a job somehow (you still don't know how you managed that), you got a shitty apartment, you got a second job, and you tried to raise the kid.

In fucking Boise, Idaho of all places.

He likes to drink orange juice, he's fucking hard to keep track of, and the only thing that will calm him down when he's upset is watching MLP or the stupid unicorn stuffed animal you found (you thought it would just be ironic but really it's a godsend).

Sadly, you couldn't afford to custom order a miniature pair of pointy anime shades. You know he would like them, and then maybe his sensitive eyes wouldn't hurt all the time (you make due by sacrificing your own shades when he starts getting fussy about the light, they look silly on his tiny face).

Your jobs aren't that hard but they take up your time and pay very little. Thankfully, your bosses don't mind too much when you bring in Dirk. You've explained to them that he's your little brother and your parents died so you're the only one able to take care of him. They think you're eighteen and they take pity on you. "Oh of course you can bring him in, he's such a cute, well behaved little thing, you're welcome to take care of him here as long as he doesn't make a fuss." And he doesn't. He's really smart like that, he knows that he has to behave when you're working.

When you work at the diner he stays strapped to your back as you take orders. Your boss there is a matronly lady that will coo at him and even watch him when you need a break ("He's such a cute thing, and the customers adore him!"). You get some funny looks, but he'll just wave his chubby little arms and make little baby faces and everyone'll just smile and not say a thing.

When you work at the gas station down the street he stays in this little car seat thing behind the counter with you (you don't like this job as much because you're terrified that it'll get robbed and Dirk will get caught in the crossfire somehow). Your boss here is yet another matronly lady and she also doesn't like you having Dirk behind the counter (she's grown attached to the little snot rocket), but she also knows you need this job. So she compromises by scheduling you only during the daytime so you're less likely to be the one manning the station should something bad happen. She's also helping you look for a safer job.

All in all, it's tough. It's tough but you make do with what you have.

It also helps that Dirk can be the most adorable thing when he's not being a little shit. Like those times he's playing and crawling around and he'll somehow always find his way into the clothes basket. You think it's hilarious when ends up with a pair of boxers on his head. He'll also find his way in there and settle down for a nap (you have no idea why, but you leave him be because at least he's sleeping for once). He'll also give you these looks sometimes (again he's really smart for his age) and they just make you crack up. He's this baby and he'll give you this smartass look like "what the fuck do you think you are doing" or "what the fuck is this" or your personal favorite "put me down you imbecile, I was doing something." They look so funny with his chubby face, and it's some of the only communication you get from him. He's pretty quiet for a baby. The only times he makes any sound is when he's crying.

And oh god are bath times fun. You never thought it would be (personally you thought he would pitch a fit and make it hell), but the kid just loves bubbles (and yeah, you like them a lot too). It's the one thing you really splurge on; bubble soap. You just can't get enough of the fucking bubbles. You make crappy sculptures out of them for entertainment (a horse, a bird, a robot, and that one time you made a penis when Dirk wasn't looking).

You love it, but it's also a pain.

There are nights when he just won't go to sleep. He'll cry and cry and it looks like he's in pain but you don't know from what. It's not any type of physical pain (you'd know, you freaked once and took him to the hospital, they couldn't find a cause). It hurts to see him like this but you don't know how to fix it.

It's hard to feed him too. He likes to play with his food more that eat it. Or throw it in your face (he'll give you this shit eating grin when you're covered in applesauce and he's just a lill shit sometimes).

He likes to get into things he's not supposed to. It scares the shit out of you when you find him crawling into the kitchen because you just know he'd find a way into the knife drawer or something.

In fact, you're terrified about this whole "parenting thing" in general. You're super afraid you're gonna fuck something up and sometimes you just get so frustrated with everything. You get angry at your life, your job, at him. Then sometimes you just don't know what you're doing. You don't really know how to take care of babies (you think it might be okay since he isn't dead yet, but...). And it's just hard.

It's hard, raising a kid and growing up. It's hard and nobody understands.

Your name is Dave Strider and you hope to god that everything turns out okay.


	5. Sweet Dreams, Timaeus

"Hush little bro, don't you cry no more. You're safe here now and that's for sure. Ain't no monsters gonna pick a fight, cause I'm your big bro, Dave the Knight. Go to sleep baby Prince of Heart, an I promise you won't ever fall apart. And I swear by all the forces that when you wake you'll have _all_ the pretty lill horses."

You're rocking Dirk to sleep and he's not going down very well. You don't know what's wrong, he just keeps clinging to you neck and whining. You hold his little toddler body close to your chest and sway to the beat of your song. He starts slapping at your neck with his chubby little hands to get your attention. You pull him back a bit from your chest and move your shades to the top of your head so you can make eye contact.

"Sup, lill man?"

He whines at you and makes cute little agitated faces, but you have no idea what he's trying to tell you.

"Bo." He bops you on the nose.

"Lill bo." You bop him back.

"Booooooooo."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat."

He wiggles around in your grasp and waves a hand in the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh, well why didn't you just say so little bro. I got you covered."

You proceed into the kitchen while Dirk gives you this tiny huff. You can't help but smile because you have succeeded in making a _toddler_ feel done with your shit.

You open the half-empty fridge and pull out a sippy-cup of orange juice. You hand it over and he takes a couple sips then hands it back to you.

"You good?"

He nods then settles back, snuggling into you and you hold him close. You rock with him, back and forth. Back and forth to a steady beat.

You hum softly to him as he yawns. You think you can hear a few raindrops patter against the window. It'll probably start raining soon. You hope it doesn't thunder because neither you nor the kid could sleep through intense storms (him because the noise and you because of the nightmares they give).

The rain starts.

You walk back to the main living area and carefully lower yourself down to the mattress on the floor (who needs a couch). You fall back until your head hits the pillows and let the kid roll to the side a bit. He still stays snug against your side. You sigh a bit as you pull the covers over you and Dirk. He whines a bit but settles down. It's been three years since you found him.

"Sweet dreams, lill man."

It's hours after you've fallen asleep that a loud crash wakes you up. It's storming outside. Dirk is already awake beside you, just clutching the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline and whimpering like a kicked puppy. You sit up and cradle him against your chest again.

You really fucking hate thunderstorms.

Your phone starts ringing.

"Shit."

You rummage around until you find it hiding under some dirty clothes and answer the call.

"Yo, Strider here."

"Yes, hello Dave," it's your boss from the diner, Ms. Jackson, "I know it's late but could you be a dear and come help me with something?"

"Petunia, babe, it's like midnight. What are you even needing to be done? I am very sceptical of what favors you might have me do. I am just little boy, Tunnie, and I don't need my innocence taken from me so early. "

You can hear her fussing on the other end of the line. "Oh, hush you. I know it's late but I really need your help, dear."

You shift and bounce Dirk a little in a vain attempt to help him sleep. A bout of thunder crashes through your apartment.

"With _what_, though? That's what I'm trying to ask here. It better not be anything naughty you spry minx."

"Dave Strider," you can hear the exasperation in her tone, "I need help with this poor man that walked into my diner. He collapsed in one of the seats, I can't wake him up, he looks injured, and it would just be very nice if you could come down and help me out."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. What the fuck?

"Okay, okay. Calm your tatas, Tunnie. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Dave."

"Don't mention it."

You end the conversation there and heave yourself from the floor, Dirk still cradled in your arms. He's wide awake.

You look out the window and it's still raining cats and dogs. It doesn't take long to bundle Dirk up and slip on his orange rain jacket and matching boots. He doesn't question you at all throughout this, just yawns and blinks up at you through tired eyes (that is until another jolt of thunder crescendos and makes him jump). You manage to find an umbrella in the depths of who the fuck knows where.

You slip on some shoes and head out the door.

It's going to be a long night.


	6. Requiem for an Exile

(Psst you want some JohnDave smut I wrote earlier? Go to tumblr and look me up, gingerlafey and it'll be in my posts)

* * *

It was late and you were packing up for the night. You were traveling now, taking your keyboard and ratty fedora anywhere could and setting up shop wherever you could. You didn't know where you were going or what direction. You had no set destination. You could be traveling in circles and you wouldn't even know. You don't even know where you really are now, the last place you where was called Caldwell (you didn't care to pay much attention to signs). It might have started as some last ditch effort to find your friends, but you lost hope in that possibility very early on (you don't know what happened, you used to be the one out of everyone to keep believing no matter what).

You were just setting the fedora on your head and about to find some shelter when it happened.

A man in a ripped and stained leather jacket began to approach you. He had a wicked smile and greasy hair. You immediately tensed and picked up your keyboard, tucking it under your arm put keeping it in a position to use as a weapon should it be necessary (you hope it doesn't come to that though, the piano was your only source of income on the road).

"Hey man, no need to be so flighty. I just wanna talk to ya."

You started backing away. "No thank you."

"Don't be like that, princess. My friends and I were just admirin those fingers of yours."

You whipped around to find yourself surrounded by three other men. All with their own wicked smiles and slicked back hair. You definitely didn't like where this was going. You backed away slowly, back towards the now closed cafe behind you. Your first clenched, prepared to punch and kick and scream should it come down to it (though you don't have as much strength as you used to, you've gotten weaker from the lack of nutritious food and opportunity to bash some heads in).

"Don't be so hasty," comes out in a putrid whisper right behind your ear. You attempt to swing the piano around but it stays firm and still. One of the wolves circling you keeps it steady with a deep growling laugh. "You aren't getting away from us so easily, cupcake."

You kick out and get him where the sun doesn't shine. He doubles over and lets go of your piano with a groan. You swing it around to hit a second man square on the jaw (you silently lament for the broken keys that fall with him). There are two left, but they don't seem the least bit deterred. That scares you.

"Come on, cupcake," the first man snarls. "You don't have to fight us. Just let it happen and it'll all be over in a second."

"Like hell."

You abandon your keyboard and make a dash for it, ducking under the wolf pack and trying to get away as fast as you can. You're suddenly choking as the one you ducked under grabs the back or your collar and drags you close to his body. His breath is foul and as greasy as his hair.

"What did I say, princess. There's no getting away, now."

The one you kicked in the nuts walks up, face pinched and angry. He punches you in the gut and you fall forward from the force of the pain.

"That's what you get you little bitch."

"Oh, I think he liked that."

"Well, then we'll just have to give him more, now won't we?"

You really, really don't like where this is going. You're trapped and you can do nothing about the fist that's now making it's way towards your face. You can do nothing about the explosion of pain in your nose. You can feel it bleeding. You're fucked, you're fucked, you're fucked.

They're ripping your clothes with their claws. Tearing and trying to shred them away. You're struggling as much as you can, hoping to find some way out. One of them pulls a knife and another starts reaching for your pants.

Oh hell no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

You can feel the panic bubbling up inside you. You can't shake them off. You feel a soft gust of wind brush against your hand and then you remember. You're a god. You concentrate, eyes screwing shut and fists clenching. You can feel the bite of the knife against the skin of your neck, but you can also feel the rising, familiar, intensity of the wind beneath your feet.

"We're gonna treat you real nice, princess. Don't you worry."

And you snap. The wind kicks up and you're flying through the air. You can feel a deep, stinging pain where the knife managed to slice you across the chest, but at least you've escaped from the maws of the wolves. You can hear them howling their displeasure and disbelief below you. You pay them no mind until you've floated away to distant rooftop and land.

Your feet hit the ground but you only take a few seconds to gather yourself before lifting back up and lowering your body to the pavement.

You really hope those thugs didn't notice where you went or were too freaked out to follow you. Score one for the god tier powers.

You were bleeding pretty heavily from that cut and you needed a place that could patch you up. You noticed a diner down a few blocks that had it's lights on. Hopefully that meant they were still open, and hopefully they could help you.

You staggered down the street and only barely made it through. The adrenaline was wearing out and you could feel every little bit of the pain now. There was a soft little _swoosh_ as you opened the door and you smiled a bit at the normality of it all (which was very far from the situation you were just in).

You heard rustling coming from somewhere within and disregarded it before you found a booth and collapsed in the seat. You let your head fall to the table and unconsciousness hold you in it's grasp.


	7. Joker's Wild

i fixed a few things from last chapter. im not too happy with this one either though...

* * *

You're tired, so very tired. But you've got a toddler strapped to your back and a mission to complete so you don't dare try to collapse on the ground and sleep. Not that you would really want to at this point, you'd rather not drown in a few inches of rain. Your limbs are heavy and the water in the air is starting to soak into your skin. It's cold and dark and you're tired. Dirk keeps shifting around on your back and you can feel every movement of it; every little shift, or jump, or sway.

The lights of the city blink and swirl and glare around you. Bright and colorful. You aren't in a particular bright and colorful mood though and you're infinitely thankful you have your shades. The rain is obscuring the sight of everything in the way that rain does. You can smell it in the air along with the usual smells of the city (even if they seem muted and denser with the blanket of rain). The pavement is hard and unforgiving underneath your feet as you trudge along. You can hear the occasional splash as you reach a puddle and it combines with the uneven beat of rain against your umbrella, the general roar of it around you, the crackle of thunder, and the smooth swish of cars driving down the road. You can almost hear a piece of music hiding within the unorganized symphony of the rainstorm.

"Bo," you feel a soft pat from a little hand against your side.

"What is it, little guy?"

"Neh."

"Oh, a guessing game. Okay. I can dig that. Wanna give me a hint?"

"Bah."

"Hmm. I dunno, that could mean anything, Bro. Are you trying to play me for a chump or something? Trying to one-up your big bro?" You reach back with your free hand and tickle him a bit. You can hear a tiny giggle from him (it's not as loud or energetic as a baby's usually is but it's still a laugh) and you chuckle along.

"Neh," you could feel him shake his head. "Sowah!"

"Oh, a story, huh?" You had long since been able to interpret his babble and that was the word-thing he used when he was asking for a story. It's not like he talked much otherwise. He was always so quiet.

"Yah."

"Alright then. Well, once upon a time there was a little Prince. He lived in a far away kingdom filled with tall towers and bright colors. I'm telling you dawg, his place was the shit. This little guy loved to build things and was making robots and other cool stuff all the time. He could build you anything you wanted."

You could tell that Dirk was interested by the way he stilled on your back, putting full attention on the story instead of squirming around. Unfortunately, you didn't really know where this story was going, you were just pulling it out of your ass.

"Oh yeah, anything. Rapping robots, battlebots, bunny robot things, auto responders, whatever. And everyone in the sweet kingdom of his agreed that he was the beast master at robot stuff. The fucking best. And the Prince loved it. That is until this one day a new challenger appeared!"

You could hear a soft intake of breath and smirked. Dirk really like story time with Dave. Because Dave is the best story-teller.

"Well, the Prince flipped his shit. Who did this guy think he was? Sure he might have been bigger and sweatier and older but that didn't mean he was better! So the Prince was all like 'oh hell no' and presented a challenge to that motherfucker as soon as he met him. And the other guy was like 'what okay whatever you say mister Prince'. So they got set up and stuff and had one of the most intense robo-building contests ever!"

It was taking way longer to get to the diner than usual. Probably because the buses didn't run this late so you had to walk, but whatever. That wasn't going to stop you from complaining.

"The Prince worked hard and fast," you snickered internally at that, "and he was pretty sure he had made the sicknastiest robot in existence. He called it... The Brobot."

Dirk was starting to squirm again, though it didn't seem to be out of disinterest. You think it was more because he was really into the story. You paused for dramatic effect and waited to see if he told you to continue, to test your theory. After a couple of steps he slapped at your side with a disgruntled "Bo!" You smiled and continued your story.

"Aight. Sheesh. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah. But when he looked over at the other guy's robot he wasn't so sure he would win. I mean the other guy had this huge ass mechanical monstrosity and it looked fucking powerful and STRONG. But he let the robots battle anyway cause why the fuck not. And the bots were evenly matched! I shit you not, it was like watching Godzilla and King Kong go at it for hours. They kept fighting until they destroyed each other. It was tragic, little man. Robo-guts everywhere. The Prince had been devastated and the other guy was upset too. So they talked it out like real men."

You could see the diner, finally, up ahead so you needed to wrap up the story before you had to hand him off to Petunia and take care of some homeless guy.

"Anyway, they talked and it turned out that they both liked horses and robots and shit and they became friends instead of enemies. They made even better robots together and ruled the fucking kingdom like beasts. So the moral of the story is Bros before foes. Yeah, so, the end."

You reached the end of you epic narrative as soon as the door closed behind you in a soft _swoosh_. You shook off the rain from your umbrella and closed it up before looking around and trying to spot the dead dude. Petunia came rushing up to you before you could spot anyone.

"Oh, Dave! I'm so sorry to call you out so late! But I'm so glad you could make it down and help out!" Petunia was fussing all over, flitting around you like a worried mother hen. She moved around to your back and lifted Dirk, who was chill as a cucumber now that he had gotten a story from you, from his carrier on your back. Once she was done cooing over Dirk you calmed her down and asked for the details of what happened.

"Oh! Yes, well," she gathered her thoughts and you noticed that the event must have freaked her out to have made her this scattered. "At first business was going really slow and it was getting near closing time so I decided to head to the back and check the stock. I left the bell on the counter so if anyone needed my help they could just ring."

"Alright. So when did the random guy show up?"

"Sometime while I was in the back, I suppose. I hadn't seen him come in but I didn't hear the bell. I think he passed out as soon as he came in. He was bone dry when I tried to wake him so he come in before the rain. But that's not important! Dave, honey, I think he's really hurt. There was blood all over him!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down and show me where this guy is."

She took you hand (her other hand cradling Dirk to her chest) and led you to the back where she had moved him. She told you that she tried her hardest to stop the bleeding but the towels placed over him wouldn't make good bandages for long. You made it into the room and she led you up to the mystery man.

The first thing you noticed where the washcloth towels soaking up blood around his wound. The second thing you noticed was that he looked familiar; black, wildly messy hair, blocky glasses that obscured most of his face, and the dorky teeth poking out from his lips. The third thing you noticed was holy shit it this "homeless dude" you were called in to take care of was John Fucking Egbert.

Holy shit.


	8. The Lost Child

oh god what is this even

* * *

"Petunia, why don't you try and settle Dirk down. He should be in the mood to sleep now. I'll take care of this guy." You jerk your thumb in John's direction and wait until your boss has nodded and moved elsewhere to rock your baby bro to sleep. Then you freak out.

Holy fuck. Holy shit fuck. What the fuck? What the fuck. The fuck?! Okay, you need to calm down like right now before you flip some shit like excrement pancakes. This is not an all out dirty breakfast buffet and you are not serving all you can eat shitcakes. You are not allowed to flip your shit. They have shut down the restaurant and your chef license has been revoked you will never flip another shit again.

You really need to calm the fuck down.

The first thing you do after carefully repositioning yourself back on the handle is check the guy's wounds. And also take a closer look to make sure it's John. You have to be absolutely sure it's your best bro. No need to get excited and it turns out it's just some homeless stinky dude that kind of looks like Egbert.

You will never admit to anyone that your hands are shaking a little as they lift away the blood soaked washcloths that littered the poor man's torso. You heave a small sigh of relief as you realize it wasn't as bad as you thought it was. You've definitely seen worse. It's shallow and start along the top right near his shoulder and dangerously close to his neck until it stops near his belly button. Again, it's shallow, but it must have hurt like a bitch and it had been leaking enough blood to be almost dangerous. The blood flow had stopped a while ago, but still.

You pull off the baby carrier from your back and dig around a bit in the pockets until you can pull out the bandages you keep in there for emergencies. It's just a roll and some tape (and okay, maybe you have some hello kitty band-aids as well), but it'll work.

You glance over around the counters and dig around in the cabinets where you know Petunia keeps some bottled water. All the while you're sneaking glances back at your patient, trying to see if you can confirm it's John without having to take a closer look. You grab the first bottle you find and screw the lid off. You carefully pour the water over the cut to cleanse the wound and your patient stirs a little in his sleep from the discomfort.

"Hey, easy there brosef. Just makin' sure you don't die and stuff. Calm your tits."

He shifted a bit more but eventually stopped moving, his breathing evening out again, and you were free to keep messing with him.

You took some of the clean washcloths and ripped them up until there was a thin amount of padding covering the slash. Then you gently lifted him into a sitting position (the guy mumbled a bit and winced but didn't fully wake) and wrapped the bandaging around his torso. When you were done you tapped the end and secured the wrap. The whole time your breath was hitching in a funny way (like it was a bit harder to breathe and your lungs were smaller than they should have been) and your hands still shaking slightly. It was odd because this could be John. And then again it might not be. You were so close to seeing your best friend again (someone familiar to you at all) and it might (just might) not even be him._ Oh God, this could be Egbert. I'll literally get to see and talk and play with him again and other corny stuff and I don't even know what. Damn do I really hope this is actually him._

You slowly lay the John-look-a-like-but-might-still-be-him-guy back down and heave a sigh. This was turning out to be a really long night. You look over to him and you almost don't want to try and make sure it's him because what if it really isn't him and you've been freaking out over nothing and then what if it is him? What the fuck are you going to do about it? You haven't seen John in years and- You need to stop overthinking this before you have a panic attack or some shit.

You took a closer look at his face. He sure looked a lot like Egbert, if a bit older and thinner and scruffed up. But living on the streets for a few years can do that to a guy. Being this close is also starting to make you nervous, though you have no idea why. You lean away and even though you are one hundred percent sure that is the face of an Egbert, you can't completely confirm that it is (let's face it you're just paranoid that you'll get your hopes up that it's John and then they'll all come crashing down when he wakes up and it's just some random douchebag).

There's only one way to be absolutely certain. You check his wrist and there it is. Your proof is right there tattooed onto his skin. You can feel yourself smile in unrestrained giddiness and relief as you run your finger in circles along the blue windy symbol painted below his hand. You figured it would be there seeing as you have a matching one on your own wrist (your red time symbol that you had become so familiar with). You don't know how or when they got there but you figure it's another one of those remnants of the game, a reminder of your god-tier status. It might also have a connection to the powers you still retain, but you'll never really know. All that's important right now is that it's proof that this is John and you're not alone anymore.

"Hey, Tunia?" you call out softly as you make your way back out to the main diner, "What do you plan to do with the guy?"

"I have no idea whatsoever," Petunia replied as she continued rocking Dirk back and forth in a smooth little motion. "I was just concerned with getting him help." She gives you a look of concern and uncertainty before arching a brow when you start to shuffle your feet. "Why? Do you have an idea?" Her tone of voice is patronizing, like she knows what you're thinking and doesn't approve.

"He can stay with me," you cringe when you see the look she's giving you. You are an almost grown ass man but this woman is making you feel thirteen again.

"Dave," oh god here it comes, "I think we both know that's a bad idea." Her eyes are steely and you can feel the maternal disapproval from here. You cannot escape their grayness. You are drowning in the waves of her unamusement. You cannot scream for help.

"I know him," you blurt out. What the fuck are you thinking? You can't just say that! You done fucked up. You fucked up. You fucked up. You fucked u-

"What?" Her expression is less severe and more squinty. Like she's trying to tell if you're lying or not, which you guess she is.

"His name's John. We knew each other when we were kids." Now what did you just say about blurting things out? You are the stupidest grade A little motherfu-

"Well, Dave, hun, why didn't you say that from the get go?"

"Uh," you shrug and she just smiles at you.

"How do you plan to get him home, since he's going to stay with you? You can't carry both him and Dirk."

Shitfuckgoddamnit. You mind has turned into nothing but mental screaming of frustration.

You hear Petunia laugh at you, "I'll take care of Dirk tonight while you take care of this John kid."

"You sure, tunnie?"

"Yes, dear. I still have some of his things from the last time I babysat."

Your hand comes up to rub at the back of your neck, "If you're sure it's okay..."

"Absolutely," she nods her head before jerking it back in the direction of the break room, "Now go get 'im, tiger," and she walks off with Dirk in her arms after giving you a wink.

Wily old woman.

You shuffle your way to the back and let yourself soak in the sight of your best bro again. Because damn has it been a long time since you've seen the little asshat. It's been a long time since you've seen any of your friends (or family or acquaintances or anybody at all that you used to know).

You slowly lift him up onto your back in a loose piggy-back ride style, careful not to irritate his wound, and start on your way out. You grab your umbrella and give a farewell shout out to Petunia then you head off into the rain.

It might take a while longer to get back to your apartment, but... You're okay with that.

* * *

okay so. hate to be a bummer about this and shit but... im pullin this story out of my ass and its getting harder with each chapter. im not getting much feedback on it and im thinkin about discontinuing it. so yeah :/


	9. Three in the Morning (Aftermath)

Flattery, my darlings, will get you everywhere. *blushes* thank you for all the support and suggestions! im going to start posting this on my writing blog on tumblr from now on too. its gingerlafeywrites i you want to follow. o3o and sorry this took me so long i got a job recently and its kept me busy (so fair warning for later chapters)

* * *

It was dark, but not completely black, and it surrounded you. It was comforting like a large, warm blanket the color of the night sky, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. You were peaceful like this. Sometimes lights would gently pulse in and out of your vision, soft and muted, fist sized fireflies that came in a multitude of colors. It was nice.

At some point you could feel a flat surface beneath your body, allowing your aching limbs to stretch out and go limp with exhaustion. You had a tired but overall happy feeling swirling around in your chest. It was nice to not have to think about anything and just enjoy the comfort. You were barely even aware that you were half conscious, but you let sleep take you completely anyway.

Your dreams start out sweet and innocent enough. You're floating through a mish-mash of old memories and good times. Soft feelings and muted laughter follow you through these memory-like dreams. You feel rather than see most of them. There's a flash of excitement and childish glee as you momentarily relive one of the many times your Dad taught you some new type of prank. A moment of giddiness and pride after mastering your first song on the piano. The sheer happiness mixed with a tinge of anxiousness when you first started befriending Dave, Rose, and Jade. The warmth of familial love when your Dad would sit down and watch your favorite movies with you. The bliss of a well baked slice of cake before you grew sick of it. Idle contentedness on one of those days you would simply sit out on your tire swing and think to yourself.  
Happy, light, warm and altogether pleasant. You hadn't slept this well and this happily in months.

You knew it was too good to last.

The last good thing you felt was the exuberating and gleeful moment of when you first took flight with your windy powers and felt freer and more at home than you have ever been.

You dreams turned more towards seeing and doing rather than just blindly feeling. Your soft blanket was ripped from you and you were plunged into a more terrifying type of darkness. You couldn't move anymore.

You could feel the slimy slithering appendages around you, wrapping around your limbs and gripping you tight, but you couldn't see them. And that made them all the more terrifying. They were burning and ripping apart you skin, dissolving it like acid past the muscle and all the way to the bone. You couldn't scream. You could here the horrorterrors whispering dark, indiscernible things into your ears. They were merely watching as the Red Miles tore you apart. Waiting.

You were not yet truly afraid. There was worse yet to come and you knew it.

Your heart rate tripled as you felt your feet plodding determinedly on, left and right and left again. This was not a particular memory of your own, but someone else's. Your hand gripped your trusty hammer tight. You were absurdly confident and foolish. You stared at the mouth of the home of you Denizen. The part of you that was memory was intimidated but steadfast, the part of you that was still you was simply terrified.

You know the outcome of this fight, and it wasn't pretty.

Fighting your Denizen was an arduous task and something you were not ready for at this point. The fight did not last long at all. You had rushed forward, an adrenaline filled war cry spilling from your lips. You were not fast like Dave, you did not have foresight like Rose, you weren't as accurate a shot like Jade. Your Denizen, a large and shapeless creature, indescribable even to you now, was fast, faster than you though possible. It was made from the very air itself. You could not land a hit, try as you might, and it rumbled a laugh at your efforts. It did not take long for it to lose patience and simply incinerate you. Perhaps if you had acquired your God Teir powers before this point you would have made it. You did not, in this timeline, make it.

The part of you that knew this outcome was as equally terrified as the part that didn't. You braced yourself as the maw of the giant wind beast quickly approached you and blew a gust of wind your way. It was not just any type of wind, it was boiling hot steam and it literally melted the skin from your bones like liquid fire.

You felt every bit of pain like it was truly your own. You felt yourself die and that was it.

Sadly your dreams were still not done with you.  
You felt hot breath on the back of your neck and horror suddenly iced your veins. No, anything but this one, you pleaded with your subconscious. You could handle any other memory or nightmare. But not this again.

"You cannot stop what is already here," you could physically feel the words crawl over your skin. Your muscles were weak and your bones heavy, you were the last one still standing and you could barely lift your warhammer, the others having fallen from sheer exhaustion before hand. Most of them were close to death.

That was what always hurt you the most in this memory, seeing you friends so near to the edge. You had been a failure of a friend-leader.  
Rose's breathing was shallow as she fought for life were she lay, having been earlier struck in the ribs with the butt of Lord English's gun. Jade was simply listless and could not move were she had fallen earlier, the effects of the Batterwitch's possession hitting her all at once after the Condense had been offed by the Lord and rendering Jade paralyzed. Jane was in a similar state. Dirk's body lay off to the side, headless (he had placed himself in front of Roxy, taking the blow instead in a heroic maneuver). Roxy herself had fallen next, strangled as she had tried to summon an object to defeat the Lord (the Game saw fit to see that as a heroic cause as well). Jake had been put under English's control long ago and was now a lifeless puppet. The trolls had all been dispatched before this battle. Dave... Dave was still struggling to move as his thigh had been pierced by Dirk's katana after the Lord had taken it from Dirk. It went right through Dave's thigh and into the ground below, trapping him. He was covered in blood and slowly bleeding out, vainly attempting to activate his time powers. His was the worst for you to handle.  
You squeezed your eyes tight because you knew what came next. You lifted you hammer and swung anyway. Lord English's maniac laughter rang out before ended with a flash. Painful and searing. The worst pain you had ever felt in any timeline.

The memory ends and so does your sleeping.

You feel your body jolt and your eyes snap open. You're breathing hard but you haven't moved much from where you were laying. You chest rises and falls erratically to match the frantic beating of your heart. Every inch of your skin is hyper aware with fear and you can feel every pump of blood through your veins. Your ears are open to every little sound and your eyes are desperately trying to focus even though they can't because you have terrible eye sight.

It takes you far too long to even think about the fact that you have no idea where you are and that there is, in fact, a sleeping body beside you. Your fear and anxiety had just calmed down enough for you to think back as to try and figure out what happened after you got into that fight (only having been reminded of said fight after feeling the burning across your chest). You remember propelling yourself with your windy thing, landing near a diner. Did you go in? Yes, you can recall the little sound the door made when you opened it. What happened after that? You were woozy, you know that, and you think you might have found a booth to sit in. And then that's it. You can't think of anything else from there.

So where the hell were you now?

You furrowed your brows and tried to remember. You decided that you were not going to try and lift yourself from this position to try and find out.

You were, however, startled greatly when it finally hit that there was a person beside you and you could probably ask them. So you did.  
You tentatively lifted your arm and began to shake their shoulder. You registered the fact that you were on a relatively small bed and you and said stranger were slightly squished, though you couldn't find out much more because you didn't have your glasses on and couldn't see.  
The stranger merely grunted and mumbled something in their sleep, shifting to shrug your hand off.

Rude.

"Hey, guy," you stage whisper, "can you please wake up and tell me why I'm in your bed."

Mumbling and shifting but still a stubborn refusal to wake up.

"Dude, please," you aren't really shaking his shoulder anymore so much as softly beating it up (was that even a thing?), "I just want to know what happened. You don't have to be such an insufferable prick about it!"

You are past whispering and are now yelling and shoving, which is almost absurd because you're still laying down on your back and using one am.

You hear a dejected moan before the person beside you decides that he will at last regain full consciousness and sits up.

You say nothing as he takes and few moments to rub at his face throw off the last bits of sleep. You vaguely register that the guy looks familiar. Where have you seen such blonde hair before? And what you can see of his face is definitely familiar.

"Um, hello?" you decide to call out and remind him of your presence. Then maybe you can get some answers and see the rest of his face.

You swear the guy jumped a few inches off the bed.

"Ohshityou'reawake," spilled out of his mouth before he fully turned to you.

You were not expecting this. Why did he look like Dave? It couldn't possibly be Dave, you weren't that lucky and you were fairly sure every inch of the universe hated you. So what the fuck was going on here?

There was a moment of tense silence that bordered on awkward as you just laid there and stared at his slightly fuzzy face (fuzzy or no you could still tell he looked like Dave from this distance).

It kept straying closer towards awkward before he smirked and said "Like what you see there, Egbert?"

You blinked in surprise, "How do you know my name?"

The stranger huffed, "What? Can't recognize a fine Strider ass when you see one?"

"Dave?" it came out as a reverent whisper. Like your life depended on the answer.

"The one and only."

"Holy shit," it was the only thing you could come up with.

You could hear the amusement in his voice, "Yeah, I know."

"Well?" you gave him a look.

"Well what?"

"Are we going to have a righteous, tender bro-hug or not?"

"Yeah," you could hear the joyful smirk in his tone.

You lifted your arms and he lifted you up gently until you could wrap them around his shoulders. At first you snickered a bit until you started clinging to each other like a lifeline instead. You were both alive. You were both here, together.

You weren't alone anymore. And the fact that you found each other gave you hope that you might find others as well (and that, just maybe, they were also alive and well).


End file.
